


The Auld Triangle

by betheflame, Huntress79, Menatiera



Series: Steve Tony Games: Flame's Fluff Fills [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brooklyn, Fluff, Irish Sarah Rogers, Irish Steve Rogers, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, established bucky/tony, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera
Summary: In which Steve owns a failing Irish bar and Bucky works at that bar and is also married to Tony and the latter two desperately want to bring the former one into their relationship...But this is Steve, Tony, and Bucky we're talking about. So they're idiots about it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Steve Tony Games: Flame's Fluff Fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781239
Comments: 34
Kudos: 346
Collections: Iron Man Big Bang 2019/2020, Team Fluff





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO OH MY GOSH I'M SO EXCITED FOR YOU TO READ THIS. I've been dreaming of this fic for pure ages and I'm so excited that Huntress and Mena are providing some visuals. Huntress provided the cover and chapter headers, and Mena did the moodboards and the formatting of all the text messages. Make sure to give them allll the love for all their work!
> 
> A few quick notes - I've based Sarah off an amalgam of whole host of people I love on that island. This tale is told with deep love of the complications of Ireland and Northern Ireland and all the people that call it home - as well as some of the particularities of the Irish-American diaspora. I am definitely open to answering questions, I am not open to hearing how I wrote any of this 'wrong'. 
> 
> Thanks to Ferret and Marie for cheering and betaing this - and to Bill for listening to me whine about it not working for a long ass time. 
> 
> *This story, besides being in the IMBB, fills a few bingo squares. Bingo info is in the endnotes of each chapter, depending on the fill.

* * *

* * *

The Auld Triangle in Williamsburg had been in the Rogers family since Jonjoe Rogers came over on one of the famine ships in the 18 whatevers and it would not die on Steve’s watch. The problem was that he was terrible with numbers. P&Ls, inventory management, cost projections, all of it. Terrible. It had all been easier when Peggy had still been in New York, but her student visa had run out and she’d had to head back to England and now he was, well, fucked.

He ran his hands through his hair, hearing his mother’s voice tell him that he needed a haircut. “Yeah, Ma, I know.”

“Hey, Boss?”

James, the new and stressfully attractive bartender, called into Steve’s office.

“Yeah?”

“Those guys last night drank us outta Jamo,” James appeared at the doorway. “The regular kind. We still got 10yr and Caskmates, but it’s Thursday and so-”

“And so Irene and Maddie will be here by 5 and if we don’t have their precious Jamo, we’ll never hear the end of it,” Steve smirked sadly. They’d had an unexpected bachelor party the night before who had drained their Jameson supply via an absolute legion of shots. Great for the profit margin, less great for keeping two of his mother’s best friends happy.

“No panic, pal,” James continued. “Tony’s on his way over from his office. He passes, I’m sure, about four hundred liquor stores on his way. I’ll just text him.”

“Thanks, James,” Steve managed a smile.

“Bucky,” James corrected. “I told ya a thousand times, my friends call me Bucky and I’m gonna stop answering to James since you don’t look anything like my ma, and she’s the only one who uses that.” He gave Steve a smile that had Steve temporarily lose brain function.

“Bucky,” Steve replied. _God in his merciful heaven, if this man wasn’t in a serious relationship I’d be sued for sexual harassment so fast._ “I think four bottles will do us until the shipment comes in tomorrow morning.” An Irish bar without Jameson was like a church without a priest; it still existed, but no one was sure why.

“Great,” Bucky smiled. Steve was, not for the first time, thankful for the calm his new employee exuded.

“I’ll follow you out,” Steve said, getting up from behind his chair. “Let me check if we need anything else before you text Tony.”

“We could probably use some more limes,” Bucky contributed as the pair rounded the corner from the small hallway off the back of the pub into the main area.

It was 2pm and the lunch rush was over. The only folks at the bar were a smattering of regulars, most of whom knew Steve’s entire family and had been present at his baptism, first communion, and confirmation. Sitting at the highly polished but battered bartop were four men who had sat in the same stools every day since they each retired from the local electrician’s union twenty years before. At 1:30 (ish, depending on when Alan took his blood sugar reading), Alan O’Donaghue, Seamus Heaney ( _“not the poet, he was a Northerner”_ ), Paddy Donnelly, and Mark Bourke. The four had emigrated together in the 70s from Dublin and were as much a part of the Triangle as Steve himself was.

They’d raised him, along with all the other regulars over the years, giving him advice on girls (and then boys, after several truly uncomfortable conversations), and their opinions on what whiskeys to serve at what prices. They had strong feelings about staffing choices sometimes - they adored James because he listened to all their stories - but were also always quick to remind Steve that he was doing right by his people by keeping the Triangle going.

The Auld Triangle had been the lifeline of the Rogers family, and most of their assorted friends, for years. Steve’s dad had inherited it in the late 1980’s and gotten to run it for a few years before dying in Operation Desert Storm. Then the inimitable Sarah Rogers took over and Steve’s ma had taken the bar from a place some people went to, to a place where everyone belonged. Everything was great until Steve was a senior in high school, and she informed him that while art may be his passion, the bar would be his profession.

_“Ma, I will be a terrible bar owner. Can we not just give it to Martin?”_

_“No we cannot give it to Martin,” Sarah sneered on the name of Steve’s cousin._

_“Ma,” Steve sighed. “He has been married for five years. Elizabeth is lovely. I get that she’s Protestant but -”_

_Sarah cut him off. “She’s got notions, Steven, I’ve warned you. I warned your cousin, but he didn’t listen. She’s a Prod with notions and they’re the worst kind.”_

_Sarah Rogers was an absolutely wonderful woman, truly. She was fiercely loyal and a hard worker, someone who anyone could rely on. She just also happened to be excessively sectarian and believe that rising above your station - or ‘notions’ - was the 2nd greatest sin one could commit… after being Protestant, of course. Steve being a gay man? Zero issue. Steve being with a Protestant? Disowned._

_“I really would have thought the worst kind were the ones advocating for conversion therapy or taking away reproductive freedoms,” Steve muttered to himself, knowing better than to let his mother hear logic, “but sure.” Louder, he continued. “Ma, we are not having this fight for the nine hundredth time. I’ll take the bar if you keep doing the books.”_

_“Catch yerself on, boyo,” Sarah scoffed. “Until you find a nice fella and adopt me some grandbabies, I’m moving home to help yer Aunt May with all the weeuns her kids have given her.”_

_Again, zero issues with gay adoption, which wasn’t even legal in her home country. Massive issue with notions._

_A puzzle, his mother. A puzzle._

The first five years he’d run it on his own went okay, if he was honest. Some years were even good, less so recently, but there were still bright spots. They had loyal customers and they’d lucked into a few really good employees who helped Steve with things like social media and drink promotions. They had a house band, of sorts, who played each Friday and Saturday and Bucky’s boyfriend, Tony, ran a Geeks Who Drink night each Tuesday.

And yet Steve couldn’t figure out how to both pay the electric bill and himself.

He lost himself in the pile of purchase orders again until he heard a knock on the door frame. “Four bottles of Jameson, and a bag of limes from the good bodega and not the shady one that Buckaroo says is fine, but I swear I saw rats in once.” Tony smiled from the doorway.

“There are bodegas in Brooklyn without rats?” Steve grinned and reached for his wallet.

Tony waved him off. “I value Buck’s life, so this is just my contribution to Irene and Maddie not killing him later on. Speaking of, where is he?”

“Earning a living,” Bucky called from the back corner, where he was washing the floor.

“I have no idea what that feels like,” Tony blithely commented as he made his way over to Bucky and kissed him soundly.

Steve sighed deeply, frustrated to once again be in debt to Bucky’s boyfriend, and also deeply frustrated that said boyfriend was so… so something. This was easily the fifth time in the two months that Bucky had been working for him that the charming, sarcastic, utterly infuriating man that Steve had no business fantasizing about had dug them out of a jam.

There was the tequila shortage, and then the issue with the ice maker, and then when the Coke delivery van was late. The whole thing with Nat - he took care of that, too - and the time that their head dishwasher had gotten caught in an immigration raid and with three phone calls, Tony had the guy back to his family and on his way to getting proper papers.

If he was just embarrassed at constantly having to be bailed out, that would be one thing. But having to be bailed out by…

He was sure it was unprofessional to think of Bucky and Tony as his two best friends, but they really were the two people he spent the most time with. The days they were at the bar were better because they were there - more lively and more homey at the same time. They’d seamlessly slipped into the rhythms, to an extent that if Steve stopped to think about it, he’d probably channel his people’s mysticism and say the fairies sent the men to save him.

“Well,” he muttered out loud as he clicked some buttons in QuickBooks and prayed for a few extra zeroes to appear, “if your majesties could have sent some less attractive fellas who weren’t blindingly in love with each other, it really woulda helped me out more, but I’m grateful for however help comes.”

* * *

“Sweetheart?”

Bucky breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. That tone meant Tony was plotting and Bucky had just been on his feet for eight hours and had limited patience for plotting. “Yes, love of my life?”

Tony swanned into the living room and flopped onto the couch, making grabby hands for Bucky’s feet.

“Oh, you must want something big if I’m getting a foot rub without requesting one,” Bucky smirked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I am not that predictable, Barnes.”

“You are exactly that predictable, Stark,” Bucky smiled softly and rearranged his body on the sofa so that Tony could knead the knots out of Bucky’s insteps.

“You know, if you would let me make some calls and get you better -”

“My boots are comfortable,” Bucky cut him off. “They’re worn in and they clean easy when people spill shit on them and shut up.”

“They have no arch support,” Tony countered, “and we’re not in our 20s any more, Buckaroo.”

“Which is why I’m ever so grateful for a fella who compensates in all the right ways,” Bucky responded with a smirk.

“Oh, all the right ways? You think you’re getting lucky tonight? It’s 2am, Barnes, and some of us need our beauty sleep,” Tony said lightly.

“You are part owl, and your first meeting tomorrow is with Pepper at 10am and don’t give me that look, Tony. If you didn’t want me knowing that shit you shouldn't have created the joint calendar.”

“Fine,” Tony huffed. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“I’m always lucky, sweet thing,” Bucky grabbed one of Tony’s hands and brought it to his lips. “I come home to you every single night.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That cheese work on the co-eds?”

“A whole $150 in tips tonight,” Bucky grinned. “The Lambda Chi guys came in again after their flag football game.”

“Ooo, sorry to have missed that,” Tony laughed.

They settled into a comfortable silence for a few seconds until Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him. “Spit it out, baby.”

Tony looked at him for a moment. “Don’t be mad -”

“Well, with that opening -”

“ImayhavelookedintoSteve’sfinancialsandhe’sreallyscrewedandIthinkwecanhelp,” Tony said in one breath.

“Can I possibly have that again, and maybe with punctuation?”

“I may have looked into Steve’s financials,” Tony repeated, slowing down, “and he’s really screwed and I think we can help.”

“You may have…. Anthony.”

“I know I promised,” Tony said, his tone full of apology that Bucky knew was earnest but was absolutely not going to stop Tony from his goal of meddling. “But, babe, it was all right there. I was literally just sitting in his office, waiting for you like a good boy and it was all right there and you know how I love a spreadsheet.”

“The order, I know,” Bucky smiled. His Tony was a genius with numbers - any kind. Budgets, formulas, algorithms - whatever. It was one of the reasons Tony’d been able to take his small inheritance from his parents and turn it into one of the largest PR companies in Lower Manhattan. The other piece was that Tony could sell sand to a Bedoiun, or an all-inclusive vacation package to a completely broke graduate student who hated all-inclusive vacations, which is how the pair had met.

“So I ran a few formulas,” Tony continued, “and I know how we can help him.”

“I’m telling ya, hon,” Bucky shook his head, “the man needs friends more than business partners.”

“The man needs to stop mooning over us and make a move,” Tony countered as he cocked an eyebrow. “Those cow eyes aren’t fooling anyone.”

“So, now we’re what? Saving his business and forcing him into polyamory at the same time?”

“Ah, so you’re on board with the plan,” Tony wiggled his eyebrows and Bucky groaned. “Come on, babe, you cannot tell me that he’s not who we’ve been waiting for. He’s kind and earnest, yet a completely sarcastic fuck. He’s a great boss, sometimes to his financial detriment, and you’ve talked about his shoulders so much I’m starting to get a complex.”

Bucky smirked. “The same can be said for how you talk about his abs from that one time -”

“Bless the exploded seltzer line,” Tony said reverently, “bless it to the heavens and back.”

“So we’ve established we’re thirsty bastards for my boss,” Bucky continued. “But being thirsty and asking if he’s poly… babe, there are a few steps you’re missing.”

“He can maybe keep it open for four months,” Tony countered, “without the bank foreclosing.”

“Holy fuck,” Bucky breathed out. “You weren’t joking.”

“And if the bags under his eyes are any indication, he’s losing sleep over it,” Tony replied and Bucky bit back a smile. When they’d first gotten together, Tony’s powers of observation had freaked the fuck out of Bucky - he was almost Sherlock in his ability to read people. Except, of course, for the fact that his crippling self-concept had prevented Tony from seeing that Bucky was gone for him, but the longer they’d been together, the more Tony was willing to accept that he maybe wasn’t a genius about his own life.

Bucky sat in silence for a few moments while Tony ground away at his battered arches. “Your plan?”

“I’m going to let him hire me for PR,” Tony said. “I’ve done up a whole campaign, with projections and everything, and the package I'm pitching would cost somewhere around $30k.”

“Which he cannot afford, nor will he take charity,” Bucky interrupted.

“Will you let me explain?”

“Fine, just don’t stop what your thumb is doing.”

Tony smirked. “I’m going to be straight with him, actually, and all I’m going to ask him for his time. I need six weeks and his complete trust to turn things around. I’m bored out of my mind at the office, I have so many minions that I barely get to do actual client work any more, and Pepper is so obsessed with our brand that I also never get to branch out. He would, honestly, be doing me a creative favor, and I’d get to spend more time with you, and so everything is a win.”

Bucky considered this. “It’s not a bad plan.”

Tony faked shock, putting his hand over his chest dramatically like a swooning debutante. “Doth my ears deceive me? Did James Buchanan Barnes just approve of one of my plans?”

“You know what I love about you?” Bucky countered with a smirk. “I love how grounded you are, how down to earth.”

“It is one of the things people say about me,” Tony replied primly, but with a devilish grin on his face.

“I love you,” Bucky said, careful to change his tone so that Tony knew he was serious. “I think this actually might work and you should pitch it as soon as possible. Also because I need him to hire someone else to help me through Fridays. Wanda is adorable and all, but Butterfingers can’t sling shots to save her life.”

Tony laughed. “I’ll head over tomorrow, after the infernal branding session with Pepper.”

Bucky changed the subject to a story about the night which involved two drunk college students, a rubber chicken that had suddenly appeared, and his fellow bartender Clint turning off his hearing aids during the karaoke.

Tony, however, kept one track of his brain on Steve.

* * *

“That sounds real generous,” Steve started slowly and had a feeling Tony was fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Before you say you can’t accept, can I emphasize once again how bored I am?”

Steve snorted, but didn’t respond further, so Tony leaned forward across Steve’s desk. “Steven, I founded J&A so that I could help people make more money and have the lives they wanted and it grew faster than I ever thought it would. I started hiring people who have now turned out to be better than me at my job, which is wonderful, but I am also so, so bored. I haven’t run my own campaign in so long because my staff keeps saying they need my expertise on the hard cases, but then there aren’t any and-”

“I get the picture,” Steve laughed and held up a hand to stop the monologue. “I just don’t want to take advantage.”

“But you’re not!”

“But-”

“Stevie,” Bucky said from the doorway and Tony turned to see his love leaning up against the doorframe, “sorry to interrupt but two things real quick. One, I need the key to the safe to get Enrique’s pay and two, please say yes to Tony because this is the most excited he’s been in a while and his boredom is killing me.”

It was a testament to Steve’s desperation that he was even considering this idea. He hated taking advantage of people and the idea that he might be in this case was making his skin crawl.

But then he thought of the balance sheet and the cash flow and the promise to his ancestors that he’d do whatever it took to keep this business alive and he found himself taking a deep breath. “Okay, but the minute it takes too much of your time, you stop.”

“Deal,” Tony grinned and held out his hand.

The other thing this decision was a testament to, Steve knew, was his own personal idiocy because even he knew the way to cure a crush was not to spend more time with its object.

So while The Auld Triangle might be saved, Steve himself was fucked.

* * *

* * *

The beginning of September marked week three of the Save the Triangle project and it was going… okay. Steve had been transparent with all the financial records, which Tony poured over with exacting detail and even called in his personal accountant and a few business consultant friends to see where costs could be saved immediately. Whenever he did something that Steve felt was above and beyond what a Public Relations consultant would do, Bucky would just give Steve a look that said ‘please keep occupying him’ and Steve would suppress a sigh and keep going.

But he had to do something for the men who were giving up so much for his bar for a completely inexplicable reason.

“Are you guys busy tonight?” he asked Bucky that Monday evening as Bucky was about to take his dinner break.

Bucky shook his head as he pulled a pint of Harp for Arthur O’Sullivan at the end of the bar. “Well, we’re in the middle of the third season of _Nailed It!_ but Nicole will be there when we get back to Netflix. Why?”

“Because I have my grandma’s stew cooking on the stove and was wondering if you’d want to come up?”

Bucky had been temporarily promoted to General Manager while interviews for a permanent one were executed, but they’d finally found their perfect candidate. Carol Danvers was a scarily efficient woman who they believed had magic in her somewhere with how fast she could make drinks and how easy she could charm customers. Tonight was her first full shift and Bucky had volunteered to work it to help with the transition. No such help had been required and Bucky had spent most of the shift chatting with Steve and schooling some of the frat bros in darts.

“Carol,” Bucky called by way of an answer and the woman ambled over.

“Barnes,” she grinned, “you slacking off already?”

“You know me, doll, always looking outta work,” Bucky winked and placed the beer in front of him to rest a moment while the head flowed over the edges. “You good down here for a bit? I’m gonna grab dinner, but I’ll be back down for around 10?”

Carol nodded. “You don’t have to cover closing, Barnes, I got it. But, I’ll send someone up to bang on the door if you’re needed.”

Steve blinked back and forth between them, realizing that neither of them had asked his permission or consulted him at all. Carol must have picked up on his confusion because she laughed. “Rogers, welcome to having a competent staff. We make small decisions without you so you can make the bigger ones.”

Steve shook his head with a grin. He’d forgotten what it was like to have people as invested in the bar as he was. Peggy was the last person who’d put blood, sweat, and tears into the place and it was clear from Carol’s first interview that she was going to behave the same.

And then there was Tony and Bucky…

“So, I’ll text Tones,” Bucky addressed Steve, “and he’s going to ask what he can pick up.”

“Nothing,” Steve said, raising his voice slightly as Bucky went to deliver Arthur’s beer. “I’ll throw some bread together and the stew is pretty hearty.”

“You’ll throw some…” Bucky blinked and trailed off. “You hiding secret talents on us, Stevie?”

Steve wasn’t sure when he’d gotten a nickname from Bucky, but it did things to his insides whenever the other man used it. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Barnes.”

“You sure do that, doll,” Bucky said quietly when he was back at Steve’s side. He looked at Steve from under his eyelashes and Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” Steve said, his voice much more strangled than he’d like it to be.

* * *

* * *

“So, I’m curious,” Steve said about two hours later, while the three were gathered around his kitchen table and digging enthusiastically into the stew. Tony, in particular, had made noises that would stay with Steve. “How did you guys meet?”

“Grindr,” Bucky grinned as he dipped some wheaten bread into his stew.

“You’re joking,” Steve scoffed. “That app-”

“Is a cesspit, we know,” Tony laughed. “We think we’re the only ones who got something permanent out of it that wasn’t syphilis.”

Steve snorted so hard that he nearly spit out his stew. After a few seconds of giggles from the three of them, he managed to swallow the food and speak again. “So, finish the story.”

Bucky smiled at Tony with such warmth that Steve’s heart stopped for a second. “Well, we talked back and forth for a bit -”

“And sexted back and forth -”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think that was implied, horndog.”

“I just wanted to make everything clear,” Tony said with a smirk. “He’s good with lighting.”

Oh is he, Steve’s libido took notice.

“Yeah, I was really tired of talking to just students,” Bucky said. “Oh, we met the first year of writing my PhD. That’s important.”

“You have a PhD?” Steve clarified.

Bucky nodded. “In history from NYU. I specialize in political propaganda campaigns against indigenous tribes in Latin America, specifically Colombia. But anyway, I was getting really burned out on the academy anyway - the publish or perish was just too much -”

“Whoah, honey, translations,” Tony laughed.

“Shit, sorry.”

“He gets like this sometimes,” Tony grinned. “I do, too, just with other stuff. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Steve shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grinned affectionately at Tony before turning his attention to Steve. “So, my dream my whole life was to be a college professor. Well, not my whole life, but probably since I was in high school and I met someone who was one. I loved the idea of research and writing and teaching all together and I have been a full on nerd since I came out of Winnie Barnes, so it seemed to fit. But after a masters degree, two actually, and a whole lot of teaching as a teaching assistant, I started listening to how miserable so many of my colleagues were. Like, you have to do so much to get a permanent job anywhere these days - you have to be constantly publishing and academic publishing is whole lot of work for no pay since the publishing companies make all the money and you write for free -”

“WHAT?”

“I know, right?” Bucky responded to Steve. “Everyone thinks because I wrote three books I must be James fucking Patterson, but I make zero off my work. It all went to build my profile as a hireable academic, but none of it actually gages if I’m a good educator to students and I’m getting heated again.”

He chuckled as Tony took over. “So by the time we met, Bucky was pretty burned out and I was pretty lonely and we started to dream together.”

“I really just thought Grindr was about hookups,” Steve said.

“Well, the first time I came back to his apartment,” Tony said, “I got a little distracted while we were…I got distracted by the political posters on his wall.”

“He was creeped out that Che Guevara was watching him blow me,” Bucky interjected with a snort.

“I can see how that would be a lot,” Steve said diplomatically and Tony and Bucky both laughed.

“It went from hookup to more pretty quickly,” Bucky grinned at his partner. “And now, I get to write on my schedule and do jobs that make me happy and it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

“I’m a bonus, really,” Tony said drolly.

“Yes, being with him is my cross to bear,” Bucky said, with a heavy tone. “I mean, have you seen his ass? It’s such a hardship.”

Yes. I have in fact seen his ass. Thank you for reminding me of it. Steve mentally responded.

“And,” Tony continued, with a playful swat at Bucky, who winked back, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat, “you know what I do, but I’ve had money for a bit -”

“Your name is on a few buildings, Tony, I put two and two together,” Steve nodded.

“You’re a sarcastic fucker and I love it,” Tony giggled. “Anyway, I’m really shit at relationships, like really shit -”

“He’s not joking,” Bucky said. “We’ve been to therapy a bunch.”

“- so when Buckarooskis was willing to do the work to deal with me, I decided to be brave and let him. It’s a bonus to me that the cash means he can be who he wants to be and not have to stress about doing his research on a timeline.”

“So when did you get married?” Steve asked, taking another spoonful of stew. A look passed between the two other men that made Steve wonder if he’d asked something wrong. “Um, it’s just that you ticked ‘married’ on your employment form, so -”

“The short answer is three years ago,” Tony said. Bucky opened his mouth and Tony growled slightly.

“Okay, won’t ask again,” Steve said and racked his brain with a way to change the subject.

“It’s just,” Bucky sighed, “all we did was take a heteronormative institutino and conform to it. That’s great if it works for people, but it’s not my bag. Queerness is revolution and resistance.”

“Queerness is also not paying more taxes than we want to,” Tony winked at Steve. “I’d save yourself now. Buckaroo has feelings on gay marriage.”

“Oh, like there’s nothing you have feelings on,” Bucky smirked.

“I’m calm all the time,” Tony replied primly and Steve snorted into his stew. “You got something to say over there, Paddy Rogers?”

“Hey now,” Steve said, “that’s actually the littlest bit offensive, but I’ll let it slide because the real issue is that I spent forty-five minutes last week hearing about the new rules in Formula 1. So I don’t want to hear it.”

Bucky started howling with laughter and Tony fought to look offended, but eventually dissolved into giggles and Steve fell all the way in love with them both, right then and there.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

* * *

“And I brought the good Tayto,” Sarah Rogers hefted her bag of treats from the Motherland onto the table. Maddie and Irene’s eyes went wide.

“And the Dairy Milk?” Irene clarified.

“Do I look like I came up the Liffey in a bubble? Catch yerself on, of course I did.” Sarah started doling out the surprises she had for them - having already given Steve his personal stash of sweets and crisps and his favorite beard oil he could only get at Boots and all the other small elements of living life in two countries.

The trio had been thick as thieves since their teenage years and the four month absence since Sarah’s last visit gave them a lot of gossip to catch up on - even though they WhatsApped each other all the time.

When Bucky brought over their fourth round of drinks, there was a brief discussion about why an ass that good had to only be available to other men, before they moved onto bemoaning the same about Tony’s.

“We’re pretty sure they’re in one of those open relationships,” Maddie confided in Sarah at one point.

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause they’re sniffing around our Stevie like he’s a four course meal,” Irene replied and took a sip of her whiskey.

“My boy is very handsome,” Sarah said with a hint of smugness in her voice.

“They’re not our people,” Maddie replied.

“Jesus, Madeline, are we in the fucking ‘RA,” Irene rolled her eyes. “They’re good boys, and Stevie’s a good boy. And Christ, could you imagine the wedding?”

“Aren’t James and Tony married already?” Sarah clarified.

“Yeah, but James doesn’t believe in marriage, so Tony made him do it for the taxes,” Irene explained.

“And what makes you think that adding Stevie is gonna magically make a wedding?” Maddie sassed.

“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, the two of you busybodies, knowing everything,” Sarah laughed.

“How else are you going to know what’s really happening?” Maddie asked.

Sarah laughed and conceded the point, before steering the conversation to some other neighborhood gossip. Far too quickly, it was time for Maddie and Irene to head home and Sarah to climb the stairs to Steve’s apartment.

“Mrs. Rogers!” Tony called from his seat on the bar. “Can I buy you a whiskey in exchange for embarrassing stories about Steven?”

Sarah laughed. She liked Tony - despite her reservations about people with money having big heads about themselves - and the past two days had shown her that she liked him for Steve, too.

“I’m too old to sit on that bar stool, boyo,” Sarah replied.

“Well, I’m sure that’s -”

She cut him off. “So why don’t you grab a bottle of the Middleton that Steve has on that top shelf and meet me in his living room?”

“Ma!” Steve called from the other end of the bar. “No harassing my friends!”

“But I have all these stories and you’ve never brought a nice boy home for me to share them!” In a lower voice she looked right at Tony and said, “or two boys,” and was gratified to see a faint blush dust his cheeks.

“Ma,” Steve groaned.

“Oh, story time?” Bucky emerged from the stockroom, carrying two bottles of vodka. “Can you save the really embarrassing stuff until we’re closed?”

“Not you, too,” Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky and used the glass in his hand to point at Tony.

“Steven, it is a Wednesday, it is 10:30 and we don’t close for another two hours. Your handsome friend here looks like he’d be much more comfortable on a couch and so we’ll go upstairs until it’s time for closing and then we’ll be back down,” Sarah said, matter-of-factly. “If, during that time, I happen to tell him the story of the time we caught you and Peggy-”

“Mother, I swear on Grandma Donnelly’s grave that if you tell that story -”

“Oh, you gotta save that one for me,” Bucky corrected and leaned over the bar to give Tony a quick kiss. “Go have fun.”

With Steve sputtering slightly behind them, Sarah made her way up the stairs with an energetic millionaire in tow. Before she opened the door, however, she turned on her heel and faced him. “Tony?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Do you love my son?”

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers, he’s wonderful-”

“No,” Sarah paused and drew out her words. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Tony paused for a moment and she wondered what he was calculating in his head. Finally he met her eyes and said, “yes. James and I both do, ma’am, we’re pretty sure.”

“He’s a stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot,” Sarah replied, feeling her heart swell slightly for Steve. “So be obvious.”

Tony snorted. “Sorry, I’m just imagining Bucky hearing you imply I might be subtle.”

Sarah laughed and turned to open the door. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

* * *

_To: srogers@auldtriangle.com_  
_From: momrogers@auldtriangle.com_  
_Subject: Visit_

_Steven -_

_As long as you don’t get rid of Luke, or let anyone touch Johnjoe’s fiddle, listen to Tony and trust his ideas._

_Thanks for a great visit as always,_

_Ma_

_Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice you looking at those boys. They’re looking back, boyo. Don’t do what you did with Peggy and wait too long. I want grandbabies. Tick tock._

Steve rolled his eyes and laughed as he put his phone back in his pocket. His ma had left that morning after a week-long visit that had included more late night story telling sessions with Tony and Bucky than he would have predicted.

“Ma, they’re just my friends,” he said out loud.

But there was absolutely no need to mention that all his PornHub searches lately had been for brunettes.

* * *

Traditions were holy at the bar. For the diaspora, the pub served so many purposes - church, family room, community center, and Steve knew that for his little center of Irish Brooklyn, he was the mayor, chieftain, and priest. So he kept the traditions and his ma’s email was a good reminder to keep doing so.

Luke Kelly’s version of “The Auld Triangle” played at closing each night, and the bar only served oysters and chowder on Paddy’s. The Guinness was only pulled by people who the Guinness people themselves trained and everyone knew that you could use the phone at the end of the bar to call back to Ireland whenever you needed. Northern Ireland was never referred to as such. No, at the Rogers family bar you called it the North of Ireland, or if someone was feeling particularly republican, The Occupied Six.

Thus, while Steve could hear what Tony was saying, the idea of changing those things felt like a betrayal of his entire family.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, “some of this stuff is a step too far.”

Tony launched into a long explanation - one that Steve had already heard four times that week - until Steve finally held up his hand.

“Tony, I think I need to explain something,” Steve interrupted, his edgy tone surprising him. He knew Tony was pushing some buttons, but he wasn’t aware he was that angry. “You have no idea what it’s like to be from an Irish American family, you just don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to carry the legacy of centuries of colonization and oppression, to feel like if you ever give an inch to the enemy, you’re letting the entire ancestry down. Your family, I’m guessing, doesn’t sit around at Christmas and sing songs about killing British Army officers instead of Christmas carols, and you don’t know what this place means to my people.”

“So fucking tell me,” Tony snapped. “Because I’ve been asking you for weeks to give me feedback on this and you’ve just been sitting there like a deflated bean bag chair-”

“Bean bag chairs can’t deflate-”

“THAT is what you’re pushing back on? THAT?”

“You’re giving me this shit for free, Stark! You think I’m actually going to be an asshole and -”

“YES,” Tony roared, “because I’m not giving it to you for free. Economics 101, pal, this is costing both of us time, which is non-renewable and therefore ultimately more valuable than anything. I charge, personally, for my brain, $375 an hour. Your expertise on bar running and Irish Americana probably runs at….” Tony wiggled his fingers as though he was punching a calculator… “$125 an hour. So, we’re sitting here, at $500 an hour, trying to save your bar. So nothing is happening for free.”

I have literally never thought of it like that, which is probably why he’s the numbers guy and I’m drowning.

“Okay,” Steve said after a couple of seconds. “You want honesty? You’ve got it. I’m not putting neon signs up in here, ever, and we are never serving green beer on Paddy’s. Our brand is that we’re the same kind of place your grandfather drank in and I like that. People want fucking kitch they can go to Rí Ra or Tír Na Nog, they don’t need to come here. Here needs to feel like the neighborhood’s living room.”

“Oh, I love that,” Tony said, furiously tapping away on his tablet, “keep going.”

Steve was surprised, but kept going. “So yes, updating the fabrics would be great and I can see getting rid of some of the tables in exchange for some better seating. Of course we need to rewire the sound system so that it stops cracking on high notes, and I like the idea of restaining the wood, but if you touch the bartop, I think generations of dead Rogers’ will rise up and have your balls, so that’s off the table.”

“Bucky likes my balls, so let’s move on from that, then,” Tony replied. “What about the food partnership idea?”

The bar had never had a kitchen, not really, so they’d just been selling bags of potato chips and other snacks from behind the bar for decades. Tony had the idea of partnering with a few local restaurants and letting people order delivery to the Triangle.

“I think it’s genius,” Steve smiled. “Sam Wilson, over at the Korean barbecue place, he’d be game, I think, and his shit is good. He was stationed over there for a few years and his bibimbap is perfect.”

“And probably would be washed down with a really nice IPA,” Tony said, eyes sparkling. “So we could do pairings and promote those.”

“What about licenses?”

Tony nodded and reached into his briefcase. “My staff pulled your options, because you technically don’t have to apply for a new one to let people eat food in your establishment, but I wanted you to have all the info.”

“If you don’t need to let the government into your business, you don’t,” Steve shrugged. “As long as I’m legal, I’m not making noise.”

Tony grinned, tapped his tablet a few more times, and then looked at Steve. “I’ll get to work on the revised plan, and then start getting some quotes on wood and some fabric updates - I know an interior designer who would love to get her hands on this place, so I’ll talk to her - and then we’ll start talking to photographers and graphics people - I have a friend, Thor, who is obsessed with pixels in a way that makes it really annoying to be his friend sometimes and really gratifying to hire him -”

Steve snorted.

“- and I think we’re good here.”

Steve was a little surprised. They’d been arguing for weeks and all it took for him to get Tony to see his side of the story was a speech about heritage? He said as much to the other man.

“I needed you to show me what you gave a fuck about,” Tony said simply. “I can sell anything to anyone, but I don’t like to sell subpar products when they can be excellent ones.”

“You think the Triangle can be excellent?”

“Steven,” Tony said quietly, “I know it. Because you are incredible and you love this place so much I think you’ve probably bled for it, you’ve just been doing it alone for too long.”

“I’ve been - “

“I swear to Christ if you say ‘fine’, I’m going to end you,” Tony interrupted. “You have been, but you don’t have to be. You get to be excellent, just like the Triangle is going to be.”

“Why are you doing this?” Steve whispered and he hoped Tony knew he wasn’t just asking about the campaign.

“We like you,” Tony said clearly and succinctly. “We like you a lot, and we like making people we like happy.”

“Bucky too?” Steve was afraid to hope.

“Bucky too,” Tony affirmed and leaned across the table. He put a hand on Steve’s jaw, cupping it tenderly. “You deserve happy things, Steven. We promise.”

Tony got up to leave at that point, but not before placing a gentle kiss on Steve’s forehead and shifting his world on its axis.

* * *

* * *

Two days later, Bucky could tell that Steve was dead. “Hey pal, just come over to ours.”

Steve shook his head, slowly and as though it took all the energy of his body to create the movement. “I’m just going to-”

“You’re going to collapse in your clothes and forget to eat again,” Bucky said. “Tony’s got his ma’s lasagna in the oven. Go grab sweatpants or something and let us feed you.”

Steve hesitated and Bucky took a step towards him. “Please, Stevie. Do it for me. If you don’t, all I’ll get all night is bitching about how I’m not a good friend and how could I let you starve and did my mother not teach me any manners and Jesus Christ, he works himself into a lather over it when he’s mid campaign, so please.”

Steve chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll be right back.”

Satisfied that his slight hyperbole had done its job, Bucky finished rubbing the last round of furniture polish into the bar top - a nightly ritual - and pulled out his phone.

Bucky snorted and pocketed his phone, just as Steve re-entered the bar. Bucky had to remind himself to keep his tongue in his mouth, because Steve had managed a quick shower and had changed into sweatpants that hung low on his hips, a hoodie that was tight enough that Bucky could see his ab muscles, and a beanie hat that was probably meant to conceal Steve’s wet hair but only made Bucky itch to take it off.

In Steve’s hand were Scooby Doo slippers and that was when Bucky decided that if he didn’t spend the rest of his life with this man, something would be empty.

“My shoes still smell like the exploded Heineken line,” Steve explained, “so I’ll change into these as soon as we get to your apartment.”

Christ have mercy, Bucky internally groaned. The politeness is going to be my death.

They made small talk as they made their way to Bucky and Tony’s. Steve told a few stories about the day before Bucky started his shift (“Art nearly had a tourist convinced he was the President of Ireland”) and Bucky updated Steve on a theory he was working with for research (“I think I can use this thing called communities of practice to talk about the resistance movements I met in Medellin last summer. I need to go back down and check in with my contacts in a few months.”).

They entered the brownstone to the smell of fresh garlic and simmering tomato sauce and Bucky knew there would be wine breathing as well. When Tony cooked Maria’s lasagna, it was an event.

“Buona surate,” Tony called from the kitchen when he heard the door.

“Hi, baby,” Bucky called back and led Steve through the house. “Ready for us?”

“Yup, the lasagna’s been sitting and the wine’s been breathing.”

“This is all really fancy for 10pm,” Steve said.

“Time is a social construct,” Tony said blithely. “Especially when we don’t wake up most days until 10am.”

“And Tony’s at his most focused from around 11pm-2am, because he’s fucking weird,” Bucky responded.

“No wonder you like bartending,” Steve said. “It fits in the schedule.”

“I never actually liked bartending until the Triangle,” Bucky replied and saw Steve’s eyebrows raise. “I mean, I learned a lot at the Ivory, and they were good to me, but I was interviewing for a few other gigs when I saw your want ad.”

“And why the Triangle?” Steve asked, as Tony directed them to the table and everyone got settled.

“Well,” Bucky grinned, “there was the fact that the boss was really fucking hot.”

Steve blushed but Bucky continued undeterred. “But also that you could tell it was loved, not only by the locals but by generations and that felt like somewhere I wanted to spend my time. And, the boss was hot.”

“You did not come to work for me because you think I’m attractive,” Steve protested.

“Didn’t I?” Bucky smirked and took a big bite of lasagna.

The question hung in the air for a minute before Steve spoke. “Okay, there’s been a lot of flirting, and I’ve been trying to figure out what you meant here, but I’m really confused. You two are committed, you’re married, why am I even in the picture?”

“We’ve always wondered,” Tony said carefully, “if we were a couple who needed a third. We’re both a little chaotic, and we stabilize each other okay, but we were curious. And then Buckybear started working for you, and we realized that we could easily see you fitting into our lives and making them so much richer. We thought at first it would maybe just be the sex, because we do often invite other people into our bed, but you evolved quickly into someone we weren’t just going to fuck and leave. We’ve wanted the whole package with you since the beginning.”

“But they don’t exactly make ‘So, Would You Like to be a Throuple’ Hallmark cards,” Bucky smirked, “and we weren’t sure where you’d be at on the whole polyamory thing, so we just -”

“Made me feel fucking confused instead of just asking outright?” Steve said.

“Everytime I made a pass at you, you stammered and blushed and so how was I supposed to know?” Bucky protested.

“I stammered and blushed because I thought you wanted to cheat on Tony with me,” Steve exclaimed, “and I’m not about that life.”

“What life are you about, handsome,” Tony asked, levelling Steve with his gaze.

Steve took a breath and Bucky held his as well. There’s no going back now, Bucky thought to himself. Steve looked at each of them in turn and said calmly, “I’m about the life that if we eat pasta right now, I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to do what I want to do to you two next, so does this reheat pretty well?”

“It reheats excellently,” Tony replied and quickly shifted to straddle himself in Steve’s lap. Bucky watched with glee as Tony cupped Steve’s jaw and brought their lips together.

Fucking finally.

* * *

“Thank you,” Steve commented to them both. The trio were in the back of the bar, mostly hidden from the crowd, who were all very intent on watching the Six Nations match that was on the screens. 11 on a Saturday morning and the pub was packed - Sam was milling around as his people delivered food, their new bartender Okoye was making mimosas and Bloody Mary’s left and right, the taps were live, and Ireland was up over England 17-10. Paddy’s was on the horizon and for the first time since he took over, Steve wasn’t panicked about using the profits from that weekend to cover all the bills of the first financial quarter. They’d hit their Q1 target in the middle of February, and things were only looking brighter into the future.

“Thank you.” Tony shifted so he was standing in front of Steve. “Thank you for taking the risk and trusting me.”

Steve felt his ears blush, but he reached for Tony and kissed him gently. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony murmured into the kiss.

“And I’m vaguely fond of you both,” Bucky replied. “But I’m watching Clint and he’s about to piss Art off with not refilling the Harp fast enough, so if you’ll excuse me.”

They watched Bucky dash to the bar and work the crowd, charming friends and strangers alike with a smile. Ireland scored again and the bar exploded in a cacophony of noise - never was an Irish person so happy as when a sports team was beating England. Steve and Tony couldn’t really hear themselves any longer, so they simply held hands and watched the bar that brought them together.

The song, Steve had explained to Tony at one point, was depressing as hell. It was written to introduce a play about Mountjoy Prison on the day a convict was set to be executed.

_“There’s a lot of interpretations, and the thing with Irish music is that whoever covers it often changes the lyrics, so it’s all kinda a mess, but for our family, it connects us to the mournful history of our people,” Steve said as he sipped a Guinness. “The triangle is literal and still hangs in Mountjoy - they used it to wake the inmates up and to signify other events of the day._

_“We had a few relations in Mountjoy over the years, and I wouldn’t be shocked if we had some now,” Steve laughed and wiped the foam from his beard. “But it was built as a place for folks sentenced to transportation by the British and my great-great-someone was one of the people who campaigned to stop transportation. I have a few cousins who work in Ireland uncovering as many accurate records as possible about the British treatment of the Irish during the occupation of the island, which my ma would be happy to tell you remains to this day, but she also doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that a good chunk of Northerners are pretty happy with the arrangement they got. Sarah’s not big on logic.”_

_“No,” Tony said, “I noticed.”_

_Steve grinned. “So, the story goes that Jonjoe Rogers was actually sentenced for Mountjoy before he escaped and hopped a ship to America instead and that’s why he named the pub the Auld Triangle, but that’s honestly bullshit. It was called Rogers’ until, like, 1960 something because the song wasn’t even written until 1954. But that’s the Irish for you - facts are never as important as a story.”_

_Tony laughed. “I have a lot of time for stories.”_

_“And that’s what this place is, a home for stories,” Steve said, pounding his knuckles on the table. “A place to exchange them and live them and that’s why I’ll give my life for it. Stories are what keep us alive, what makes life work. At the end of it all, story is all we are.”_

As Tony looked around the pub and saw the faces, he wondered how many stories were being exchanged and lived that day, and how many more unwritten ones were represented in the room. He squeezed Steve’s fingers and kissed the man’s cheek as he thought of the story he was making with his loves, and how lucky he was to be living it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Flame:  
> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/betheflame1) or [Tumblr](http://betheflame.tumblr.com) for more on these yahoos. You can also submit prompts and cajole me into writing faster - it usually works. If you're on Discord, I'm definitely there, too, and probably hanging in the [Put on the Suit Stony Server](https://discord.gg/z5WSqbS) or the [PotsCast Podcast server ](http://www.discord.com/4NbA7wy). Oh! And FestiveFerret and I have a [fandom podcast](http://www.podonthesuit.com) if you're so inclined.  
>   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> ______________
> 
> Flame's Fills: 
> 
> SteveTony Games  
> Fluff: Mutual Pining
> 
> StarkBucks Bingo  
> O2: Helping Behind the Scenes
> 
> Bucky Barnes Bingo  
> B4: Meeting the Family


End file.
